The Judicator's Fang
by PlagueOfThots
Summary: [Jormungand x HM mod: Midnight Animal] John "Midnight Animal" is a rouge operative who wants to get away the corrupt and mad organization of 50 blessings. He escapes from America for a new life but, just because he is away from the organization does not mean he is off the hook. The organization will hunt him down for his betrayal... (Thanks to ZXAdvent for the idea!)
1. Chapter 1: Run

**Nothing much to say here except...**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **500 Hours UTC**_

 ** _Location: West Asia, [REDACTED]_**

 ** _Squadron B / Assault Squad-Alpha_**

 ** _Objective: Secure and Capture John 'Midnight Animal'_**

 ** _..._**

John looked to the pistol in his hand, the familiar feeling of the M1911 a curse and a blessing. The killing and suffering caused by corruption... It was his chance to finally abandon the corruption in 'New' America. He was hiding in the back of the van that was driving along the east coast of Africa, nearing the port where he would hide inside of a shipment container to Asia. Surely the man didn't know exactly where, but he would just have to improvise.

"Stop the car!" The van slows down to a halt, the cargo next to him shifting a little from the inertia. John thought the security detail at the base would've let up because it was dark out. Of course the driver didn't know that he was there so he would've had no problem telling him the contents of the cargo with the exception of John. All John could hope for is that they don't check the back of the truck.

 _Keyword:_ _ **HOPE.**_

As John braced himself, the sound that he hoped that he didn't need to hear came...

 _ ***Click***_

The lock was now being unlocked, the impending doom signified by the sound of the lock sliding over to unlocked position. Ducking down, the double doors opened as the night breeze entered the back.

"So if I'm correct, you're not harboring any fugitives or POIs in there? Just ammunition?" The man behind the deep voice seemed detached as it sounded like he was going through the motions. The driver told him 10 crates, to which was answered with a groan. The man clambered into the back and started to kick each box, the sound of the lead shuffling around was soft but audible. After about two or so kicks, the man would move to the next box. For the entirety of the check, he would just stare down at his phone, not bothering to look around.

 _Thank god this man is tired of his job... After all, he IS working night-shift._

John laid hopelessly still as he waited for the check to be over. The after the man kicked the last box twice, he doubled back to kick it once more. Simply put, what you would expect if someone tried to kick while looking at their phone occurred. Put bluntly, his foot sailed past the box and slammed itself into John's balls. A grunt that had escaped from his throat caught the attention of the guard as he pulled out his pistol and pointed it towards the box.

"Come out with your hands up!" John sat there writhing yet refusing to reply.

 _Maybe if I lay still... He'll forgot all about me..._

"I have a gun! I'll do it! So you better come out!" John sighed as he slowly hoisted himself and slid his body out from behind the box. Just about as the man approached him, gunshots were heard in the distance. The man immediately turned around only to be pistol whipped in the back of the head. The driver was in shock as he saw a well-chiseled man picking up the unconscious guard like he was a pillow and tossed him aside.

"Sorry about that... I'll just excuse myself." Running off with two guns in his holster, one of those commandeered from a lame, underpaid guard. Examining the gun, it was a low-quality Glock model, with the burst-fire option selected. War cries, screams, shouting, and crying were heard as a warped dissonance in the distance, the gunfire crescendoing with its rhythmic hammering. Closer and closer the sound of bullets being flung through the air came until it suddenly came to a halt. A soft murmur was heard before the endless thudding and crashing managed to replace the soft melody, the orchestral score ending with the sound of three shots. A wartime orchestra that John never though he would hear again... The decision was pretty simple:

 _Let's just tip-toe outta here..._

Silent but quick, he slithered through the shadows of the forest. His training of course would do him well, but that didn't seem to be the case when a branch behind him snapped. He was most likely spotted, so he put his arms up in surrender and turned to meet his captor. There, a brown-skinned child was seen, his white hair piercing through the darkness. In his hand laid an AK-47, obviously cocked and ready. John needed to deescalate the situation. So the best course of action, since it was a kid, was to play himself off as playful. John was naturally playful and kind, so he was popular with the kids... Theoretically.

"My, isn't it a nice night out? Shouldn't you be at home-" That didn't seem to lower his guard, for it seemed to aggravate the kid. He seemed to show the common tells for when he was going to shoot. The look in his eyes and the tensing of his right shoulder told him he was going to pull the trigger, aiming at the target and preparing for recoil. Sliding his stance into a orthodox position, he lowered both his arms into a guard. For his left arm however, it came down after the right and struck the rifle out of the kid's hands. Proceeding to zone him off with a spin kick, also serving as a way to kick away the AK, he slid in and followed up with a right.

 _Wait. Did he just start to back up even before I kicked?_

Unexpectedly, the kid had a good enough reflex to notice his sudden movement. Sadly, even with his reflexes, the sudden right straight after the kick caught him on his right temple. Teetering backwards, the kid displayed a clear lack of CQC skills. Even after being given a chance to recover, his stance was sloppy enough to be knocked over with a light shove. Luckily for the kid, it was too dark out for John to see what was in his hand. In his right hand was a blade, and he had the intent to kill the man if he needed to.

"Who are you?" The words came out way too forceful to be assertive, as it had traces of malicious intent behind it. If John's intuition was right, then this kid took down the outpost. On the other hand, the kid's intuition told him that he was dealing with someone far more dangerous than the men he killed. Even in the position he was in, John still held his playful air around him.

"Isn't it rude for you to ask my name without giving your name first?" Both were on edge, and only one was showing that they were. The kid repeated his question again, the adrenaline in his veins from before clouding his judgement. Just as John tried to flash a smile, a gleam of light reflected into his eye. As punishment for being so reactive, he received a cut on his left shoulder. It was a laceration along his shoulder, the bleeding venous in nature. It wasn't life threatening, so he was thankful that it hadn't hit an artery. Turning to meet his adversary, he brought his arms in front of him and held his stance. Within seconds, the kid jumped at him, a rookie thing to do. The blade easily slid past him as he wrapped his left hand around his shoulder, and the other on his hip. In an instant, the kid's back met his left knee. It had slammed onto it with such force, the kid puked.

"Freeze." Before even thinking of turning his back to the kid, he disarmed him by stomping on his forearm to make him release his weapon. Next, he kicked the knife lightly towards the voice.

"Now. Let's all be rational here. I'm hurt, he's hurt, and you're not. So! If you would be so kind as to-" He was silenced by the sound of an helicopter landing nearby, but that didn't hide the soft footsteps that were approaching behind him. Grabbing onto the man behind him, it gave him a chance to do something. Through the dense treeline, if he was at least 5 feet in before they started shooting, he would be safe. The fact that they probably had faster reactions than that worried him, but he would have to wing it. Tossing the man to the one with their gun presented, he entered a mad dash into the tree line. A good second later, they started shooting, but it was too late. He was in the clear and out of there, his hand the only thing preventing crimson blood providing a trail.

 _ **...**_

"I would've thought he'd elbow me or use me as a shield. Must've been pretty quick on his heels to ignore common sense." The man tried to justify his failure, for he knew that what transpired was because of him. The little squad of four serving under Kasper had duties that sat on both extremities, in which they suffered from being held to high standard. Luckily for him, they managed to pick up the 'scraps' the man left behind, which was the child. They knew he was the one who cleared out the outposts, most notably from reports their scouts sent. Currently, Chiquita and Kasper were inside the warehouse interrogating the child.

"Hey man, don't sweat it." The three other members of the bodyguard were male, and were currently assigned to lookout duty.

"Yeah, you could tell he was good just from the build of his body. It may not have been bodybuilder material, but it was toned enough to knock you over, and you're 82 kilograms... Without the gear." That comment alone caused him to get punched swiftly on the shoulder.

"Would you knock it off Dalton? We don't need bruises on baby Jayce's shoulders..." This time, Jayce threw the punch, to which he followed up with a retort.

"You shouldn't preach what you don't practice, Chul..." A short scoff escaped Chul's throat as he walked off towards his route near the eastern border of the outpost. Following suit, Dalton marched towards his route along the forest, which covered the western and northern borders. Since the southern border was sealed off with a four meter high concrete wall, the only thing that Jayce was assigned to was walking around the warehouse. This gave him time to think about the character they had encountered. He was obviously American, judging from his skin tone and facial structure. However, what he failed to pinpoint his skill. His skill level was obscure, the current scale for his skill being either a lucky civilian or a world-class soldier. In either case he was a threat to their operation.

"Jayce!" Kasper was calling him in, which was rare for him to do. In any case it was important, so he briskly pivoted on his heel and strolled into the warehouse. Gesturing over to the shipping crate, he led him towards the double door that was locked.

"For the time being, he is going to be locked inside this crate until I say so. He is not to be fed or interacted with. Understand?"

"Understood." With a nod, he brought Chiquita into the helicopter, flying off into the distance.

 _I guess I'll just watch him then._

 ** _..._**

"It's been several days. Think the kid's dead yet?" Chul simply shrugged, the cigarette in his mouth being a larger priority than the conversation at hand. Dalton however, was outside discussing the situation with Kasper. Currently, there was squad of American Delta Force members, consisting of 15 well-armed soldiers with M16A4s. Obviously they tried to push back their data collection, but they were 'insisting' on finding out where a 'John' was. Initially, Dalton tried to joke around by pointing to the toilet, but that prompted a brisk strike with the stock of his gun. With a bloody napkin in his nose, he radioed in the situation to Kasper, in which was responded to with a simple 'on my way.'

After Kasper spoke with the squad, he informed the four of them that they were to find the man from before. A few questions came up collectively in their heads, but they decided to ignore them. After the bodyguards were long gone into the forest, Kasper prepared himself to open the door...

* * *

 **That's all...**

 **Ciao!**


	2. Chapter 2: Chase

**0-0**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

After a good seven minutes had past, John had come to a stop to analyze his injury. The cut was wasn't deep enough to reveal the hypodermis over his deltoid, but the vein there was bleeding. The cut was three inches in length, not large enough for a tourniquet to be applied. Checking his satchel, he pulled out his first aid kit. Leaning against the tree, his left arm elevated above his head, he brought out the military-grade gauze. Ignoring the pain, he started to shove gauze into the cut then covering said gauze with a bandages wrapped around his triceps and biceps. Staying in that position for a few minutes for the wound to clot around the gauze, he slowly moved his arm into a 'L' along his chest.

 _If I'm right, I've lost about a couple milliliters of blood when I was running. I've just gotta walk... But I feel weak..._

Applying light pressure atop the gauze to not break the clots, he trudged his way through brush and wood. His watch read 9:17 PM, the loss of blood making him feel nauseous...

 ** _..._**

Jonah sat alone in that crate, the deal being that the orphans would be cared for IF he served under him. He would not serve under that weapons dealer, responsible for all the misfortunes that had fell upon him. A seemingly endless cycle of conscious thought, numbness, and the slip into a short nap from being so feeble. He did not move from his little corner in that crate. Judging by the last time he ate and drank, he would only last four days in this crate...

 ** _..._**

 **Four Days Earlier...**

Approaching rendezvous in 00:17:48... Over.

The radio cut off as the Sergeant looked to his squad. The 14 operators all looked to him, seemingly questioning when they would get off the god-forsaken transport helicopter. Craig couldn't help but sigh but empathize with his squad, the helicopter seats were run down due to all the deployed units getting on and off these faux leather seats. That didn't help the fact that they had sat in the helicopter for over six hours it seemed.

 **20 Minutes Later...**

After getting off, the squad turned to see Major Lawson waiting for them at the rendezvous. Lawson was the leader of the troop his squad was in, but Lawson was known as one of the best troop leaders in the squadron.

"Seems like you didn't enjoy that flight much huh Sergeant Major Merrel, or should I say Craig?" The squad was unfamiliar with this, but they would soon learn the two where good friends.

"Well, you look like a coffee yourself Seamus. Looks like the newbie Sergeants and Lieutenant Colonel have been pulling you all sorts of directions."

"Couldn't have said it better. Before you go, we have to report to the Lieutenant Colonel in the war room near the mess hall." Passing a nod towards Seamus, Craig leaves his team at the mess hall to eat. Entering the war room, he was met by the Lieutenant Colonel facing the three Majors and the nine Sergeant Majors in Squadron B. It was obvious that they had been selected to be part of the mission... She stood up once Craig lined up along side them, now preparing herself to address them. All five of them knew what was coming down. The intel for their assignment was leaked among the assault squadrons, every single squadron was hoping to not get picked for the job.

"At ease soldiers. Today, we've received an assignment from the higher ups to do a high-priority counter-terrorism mission. This mission is vital to the security of our country, so we must accomplish the mission. Since we've been chosen to do this assignment, they must've thought that we have the capacity to carry out this mission compared to the three other assault squadrons." Everyone stood there, sweating profusely but refusing to wipe it off.

"Simply put, I'll be assigning Lawson's troop as the assault troop and Wright's recon troop to go along with personnel from Squadron E, Squadron G, and CSS to complete this mission. Lawson will be acting directly under me for this op, so anything that happens on the field will be directed to him. I've already informed the rest of the team on the op... Everybody is dismissed... Except for Lawson." The 11 of us left Lawson all alone with her as we walked away pondering what she could've wanted with him...

 **0400 Hours...**

Like clockwork, Seamus woke up without hassle. In the tent were all the members of their troop. Although they were a currently unnamed troop, they called themselves 'Banshee'. There was a reason for that title, and it was Seamus' favorite part of the day... Grabbing two metal poles beside his bunk, he started to clang the two together. In mere moments, screams and cries filled the tent as soldiers bitched and moaned as they sloppily stood to attention. The primary offenders of this was the squad Craig was in charge of.

"Good morning Banshees. Today, we're expecting to meet the new Sergeant for Merrel's squad, and I am to give the briefing for the mission at hand. Get your asses trimmed and prim by 0600 hours. Dismissed." Pointing to Craig, Vincent, and Jonah, he called over the trio of Sergeant Majors.

"Merrel, Yee, Bausso. You three are going to need the personal info on this guy in order to deal with him." Pulling out three folders, he handed one to each one of them.

"You don't need to know this now, just have the highlighted data memorized by the time we go off on this op in four days." Shooing them off, the three got themselves ready for the shitstorm to come.

* * *

 **That's All?**

 **Ciao!**


	3. Chapter 3: Hide

**Shh...**

 **I know that the three men are named Edgar, Allen, and Poe, but that's some sad boy stuff.**

 **SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. IT'S MY STORY GERALD, I CAN CALL THOSE THREE KIDS WHO I WANT.**

 **Also Happy Holidays!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Fuck me..._

Stumbling into the emergency room, he saw that the room was filled with people suffering from severe bleeding. As of expected of the gang side of the port town, pirates would fight one another for loot. Screw Somalia, the place wreaked of death and looked to be the deathbed of many. Entering the room was a woman not of African descent, and the attention of the room was pulled to her in an instant. Slowly she scanned the room, shaking her head as she saw the usual gangs sitting there bleeding. Suddenly, she made eye contact with John, the only Caucasian in the room besides her. Pointing to him, she beckoned him into the hall.

"Me?" John was confused, he would've expected hospitals to be unbiased at this point.

"Yes, you." Once again she called him over, and this time he listened. Entering the actual medical center was a big difference from the run-down state of the waiting room. The sanitation of the area was well done as any smell was non-existent. Soon, they were met with an empty room down the hall, the woman gesturing him into it. As soon as he sat down, she left the room, presumably to call the doctor.

 _ **...**_

 **Present Day 5:00 AM UTC...**

Rubbing his arm, John slowly moved his shoulder for the nurse. The stitches were now ready to remove, with possible signs of scaring.

"Okay, you should be clear to go." Handing him some antibiotics, she proceeded to remove the real stitches and replace them with soluble stitches. Then after sterilizing it, he was cleared of any other injuries. When he came in four days ago, he had a venous cut that had initially been only dermis-deep, but ruptured into the hypodermis on the trip to the hospital. He also had light bruising, moderate damage to his testicles, and a high blood alcohol content... Which was to be expected after downing several shots of whiskey to drown his sorrows.

"You should take the antibiotics once per day, and if you have any issues with your... pelvic region, feel free to come back any time." The woman flashed him a smile, then gingerly handed him the two pistols. Helping himself up, he proceeded to walk down the hall until he saw Delta Force soldiers surrounding the area. Quickly scanning his general vicinity around him, he saw a window facing the port. Entering a light jog, John silently made his way to the window and opened it, leaping out into the shrubbery from the second floor. After his legs met the floor after bursting through the shrub, he entered a roll to reduce the impact of the fall. Entering a fine sprint, he quickly made his way into the cargo yard, slowing down into a slow stride. Checking on his guns, he would want to know what he was going in with. Quickly assuming that both of them are full magazines plus one in the chamber, it would mean that he had 18 rounds in his Glock, and eight in his M1911.

 _Just as long as I don't-_

Turning the corner was one of the soldiers that tried to grab him and the child four nights ago. Pivoting to his left, he picked up his pace to a jog and rounded another corner two crates ahead. All he had to do was find a way to either neutralize his threats or find a container to hide in. Near the ship were a stack of pallets, which he quickly climbed on top of. Looking around he had three options. One was to jump atop the crates, another was to climb atop the metal supports to hopefully board the ship, and the last was to take another look around to find who was chasing him.

 _ **...**_

 **15 Minutes Earlier...**

Craig looked to the four men that he had to bring along. They wore heavy armor resembling Russian heavy assault armor. Their visors were tinted green, based on the theory that humans could see more shades of green than any other color. Wielding the FN P90 submachine gun, they were in heavy contrast to the operatives in his squad. Pulling out the folder and tossing it to the four of them, he turned to his men.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the man that we are looking for is an ex-SEAL Team 6 Lieutenant Commander, which is the same rank as me. He has multiple skills, including high marks in gun play, stealth, recon, hand-to-hand combat, and so forth. Do not approach by yourself at all costs. He bears the Navy Cross and both the normal and defense Distinguished Service Medals. Most reputably, he was responsible for leading his team off the coast of New York into a terrorist fleet bearing explosive munitions. This is where he gained these medals, securing the head ship, disarming the ordinance, and rescuing a fellow troop who were held captive in multiple fleeing ships." Looks of disbelief and awe were on his squad's faces. However, he had to break the news to them.

"Despite all this, he has been branded as a traitor for assassinating three head members of Fifty Blessings. Today we have been called on to secure him and bring him back to base. Recent reports from our recon teams have found that he is currently in a hospital near the port. We will create a perimeter around the hospital itself, while our four assistants will sweep the cargo yard. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir!" Although they sounded as peppy as usual, the looks on their faces told him that they were in deep thought. However, once the helicopter landed the look changed into one of calm and determination. Fifteen minutes had past when they received reports of John jumping out the second story window and creeping towards the cargo yard. After sending half of the perimeter to the cargo yard to sweep it, Craig started to worry. Something seemed off, his gut was telling him that things were going to go down south sooner or later. He couldn't possibly ignore it, but his training taught him otherwise. Right after snapping himself out of it, he heard gunshots in the distance, the sounds of a sidearm.

 _Shit. Shit. Shit._

Rushing his squad to sound of the gunfire, they heard crashing and SMG fire. Now they were entering a quick sprint towards the gunfire. A shot whizzed past his shoulder, prompting him and his mates to drop to the floor behind a fallen I-beam. Recon were radioing in that he had managed to hold one of theirs hostage aboard the ship.

 _How the fu-_

 _ **...**_

His plan had worked. By shooting three shots into the chest armor of the person he saw earlier, he had managed to attract the rest of the squad. What he didn't expect however was to find his two friends shooting at him with full-auto P90s. After quickly taking cover, he had managed to dent a precariously built I-beam structure for holding the crates. After losing its structural integrity, it had pinned down the two firing at him and creating a disorienting noise for anyone that had managed to be around him. Conveniently, a soldier started to shoot to suppress him. He could tell because he hesitated a few seconds then shot past his head when it was obviously a clean shot to kill him. Even if he had been shot in the head, he wouldn't have cared. Death was all too friendly a face to face down, another corpse another easy pill to swallow. Unexpectedly, John entered a sprint towards the soldier, which made him panic as he started to shoot blindly at him. Ducking down then leaping towards the man's legs, the shots only managed to leave a few grazes on his back. Soon after, he managed to make contact and tackle the soldier.

"You son of a-" With his head beneath his groin and his arms wrapped carelessly around his shins, he lifted his back up and pushed his shoulders forward. Soon, the man stumbled forwards behind him, which allowed John to flip over and trap his ankles between his own two and pull it from under him. The man now falling to his knees, John took the chance to disable the gun by shooting the chamber of the rifle. Jumping up, he swept his foot across the man's right knee to drop him onto his belly. However, the man pulled out his Bowie knife and used his upper body strength to flip himself onto his back and make a swipe at his throat. Quickly John grabbed his wrist with his left hand, then collapsed the elbow with his right fist, coercing the blade to his throat. Slamming his knee into the man's side, the man twisted and writhed in pain.

"Come on, get up now." John helped the man up, the knife now kicked away and the M1911's barrel glued to the man's temple. He managed to get up, refusing to resist any further.

"There you go." Slowly, they found a crew entrance along the side of one of the cargo ships. Both of them stumbling into the unoccupied med bays, he tied the soldier's right arm to the foot of one of the beds. Sloppily, he wrapped gauze around the entirety of his torso, then securing it with gauze tape. Resting on the bed he tied the man to, he spoke to him.

"Sorry about that." Turning to him with a look of surprise on his face, he managed to respond.

"Y-yeah, it's all right... It's just that... Why'd you betray America if you were such a good soldier?" Tapping his chest lightly, John shifted his weight onto his lower back.

"Well, let's just say that we're technically an oligarchy... Why would we abandon 'A republic under God' for an oligarchy over sin?" The man fell silent, the only thing breaking the silence the sound of the fog horn signalling their departure. John closed his eyes awaiting something to happen...

"Aren't you the least bit afraid of death? You did not move in fear when I shot at you. Are you even hu-"

"Good question. What is considered human?" The man once again fell silent again, the sound of the radio receiver crackling in quick succession.

 _ **"Phillip. Phillip. Do you copy? Over."**_ Fumbling the receiver on his chest, Phillip pressed the button.

"Yes I'm fine Sergeant. Over."

 _ **"What's your status? Over."**_ He hesitated for a second, the decided to not answer. Craig repeatedly called into the radio, to which Phillip refused to answer.

"You gonna get that?"

"Nah." Chuckling, John let Phillip go. Now Phillip was puzzled, as he only could stare as John easily fell asleep with a threat right next to him. Soon, he was sound asleep, his light snoring barely audible. Taking off his gear and laying in a bed beside him, he had not slept for a day. Somehow, a silent pact of trust was built between the two as they both fell asleep, loaded pistols on the nightstand between the two.

 _ **...**_

 **Another nightmare.**

 **Another day.**

 **Another lucid dream.**

 **Another night.**

The sounds of a Taiga in the spring was calming. There he stood.

 **Alone.**

A step. Decay. Another step. Flame. Yet nothing stirred. Nothing disturbed.

 **A monster.**

He grew irritable. Angry. Livid. Furious.

 **a MAD sprint**

More flames. More death.

 **cry**

Less tears. Less remorse.

 **.llaF**

.etuM .gnividykS

 **clearing. A**

stood. There a demon

 **STILL.**

He sat beside him.

 **ALIVE.**

The demon spoke.

 **WHY.**

 _"The rage in your heart warms you in the winter. But in your spring grave, you are left cold."_

Suddenly, John burst awake sweating profusely. He had woken up to the sight of a European country, presumably the coast of Ireland. Tapping his cheek, he felt tears. He could not recall his dream, but he felt that he needed it... Somehow.

* * *

 **Blah.**

 **Creative writing is fun. Is it?**

 **Ciao!**


	4. Chapter 4: Countdown

**Happy new year!**

 **Now that I have free-time, I think I'll pick back up writing FanFiction.**

 **Despite that, my writing style may differ from me a year or two ago. So please be patient with me, and as always:**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **[REDACTED] , Washington D.C**

 **0800 Hours UTC...**

The twelve men seated themselves in the office, the soft crackling of the air conditioning stifling the unbearable silence that was the room. Once seated, a man dressed in a blue suede suit stood, his hands holding a black suitcase. His stubble facial hair reeked of cigars and other things left best unsaid, as a matter of fact, an exaggeratedly large cigar rested in the cracks of his lips.

"Gentlemen, as you may have heard, our 'Midnight Animal' has seemed to slunk itself away into the shadows." spoke the man, his voice soft in comparison to the flashy demeanor he wore. He cracked open the suitcase, revealing the contents of the no longer ajar case. Inside were documents detailing his movements. With an assistant passing out the papers, he continued on.

"Gentlemen, if you would so kindly turn to page seven, that is the latest report that was clocked in at 0500 hours UTC this morning off the coast of Africa. Investigation reveals that a nearby hospital had harbored him for the previous night, after receiving injuries with those... associated with Mr. Kasper." the man's voice filled with disgust as he uttered the last four words, but the eleven other men paid him no mind.

"Anyhow, the ship he supposedly boarded was a cargo ship headed to Northern Ireland to resupply the outpost on the North-Eastern shore..." then a smile grew on his face, which the other men picked up on and the room started to laugh.

"So its a Operation Macktov then sir?" some mine chimed in inquisitively.

"Yes indeed..." Then the room burst into applause as the men stood and shook the suited man's hand graciously.

 **4:38 PM UTC**

Outside like John had noticed before, they were at Northern Ireland's Outpost responsible for the military and economics of West Scotland.

"So, have you looked outside your window Phillip?"

"Yeah. It looks like we're off the coast of Northern Ireland."

"No shit Sherlock. Not to say that we most likely both entered the Armament Conflict between Norway and Ireland for 'economic interests'?"

"Yep." They both silently recalled their deployment days. Ever since Scotland dissolved, Ireland and Norway vied for the natural resources in Scotland. Agriculture, Iron, Oil, Coal, and Natural Gases. And most importantly: Manpower. As a result, the two built up navies supported by the world powers. Soon, America had to keep relations with the UK and had to support Ireland in securing the land in return for a share of the resources. Just like how Germany was after WWII, Scotland was split between Norway and Ireland, but not after the hundreds of confirmed kills the both of the racked up combined.

"Well." Snapping the silence between them, John tossed him his pistol back. He simply stood up and proceeded to walk out of the room, but not before imparting him a message: "If you ever need me, make some noise." And with that he was gone. No longer bound by the fear of death, Phillip simply walked off the ship; however, he did not find John anywhere. For all he knew, John was off shaming some prideful soldier.

 _ **...**_

 ** _*CLANK*_** An axe strikes into the foundation of an abandoned guard tower. What John needed was here, and was thankful the old rusted axe laid untouched during the evacuation.

 ** _*CLANK*_** Another strike manages to make a reasonable dent in the boardings.

 ** _*CRACK*_** And finally, the wood shatters, revealing Euros and a stash of concealable weaponry scattered along the floor. Berettas, extra .45 ACP & 9mm magazines, WASP knives, WASP C02 containers, and an assortment of Swiss army knives.

"I told him that I would need this in the future..." John could now only speak to himself as he pondered what to do next.

 _I could try to start a new life here but... I'm probably being tracked down. I need to get off the grid. Somehow..._

 _ **...**_

With a wry smug look on his face, Kasper simply left the wimpy American squad to their own devices.

"Chul, Jayce, Dalton, Chiquita! We're falling back!" With the order, they all flew back to the base they had flew off from. Checking his watch, Kasper took note of how much time really had passed. Kasper knew it was too early to do anything yet. He had to be patient and wait. That's how everything was: a war of attrition. That was a thing you wouldn't learn in school, and sure as hell what wasn't learned in any total institution he knew of. Sheer experience and knowledge allowed him to confidently make that statement. All the proof he needed for his hypothesis was in the next few days.

A few days later, when they had just began demolishing the base to make way for their supply route, Kasper finally opened up the crate.

"Hello? You still alive? Jonah?" Pried Kasper with a sharp, devious inflection, confident Jonah was surely already broken. In the corner was Jonah, crumpled, clinging onto the water jug for dear life. Soon the two met eyes when Kasper decidedly told Jonah that he was the one who sold weapons to the enemies of his village. He then admitted being indirectly responsible for his parents' death, and so Jonah tried to attack him, but was only able to weakly gnaw on Kasper's ankle. Jonah then asked about the three orphans, with Kasper revealing that they were safe, promising to relocate them in Japan.

"So Jonah... What can you offer in return for their safety? Hm?" Asked Kasper, Jonah answering in silence as he knew that he nothing. Rather quickly, Kasper offered to utilize Jonah's combat skills and put them to use working as a bodyguard. Jonah had no choice but to accept as Kasper told him that he will work for his sister.

* * *

 **P.S,**

 **I'm going to change the story from here on out as I take creative liberties, so look forward to it!**

 **Ciao!**


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